


i'm okay, i'm not your baby

by blackwood (transjon)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cock Warming, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, brief daddy kink, briefly mentioned breeding kink (like one sentence)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: “Do you want to be useful?”“Yes,” Martin says softly. Elias knows this, of course. It’s a constant. Just a background truth to his existence. He just likes to make Martin say it.Elias smiles, then. “On your knees, Martin.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas, martin blackwood/jonathan sims (one sided)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 166





	i'm okay, i'm not your baby

**Author's Note:**

> title is from you should see me in a crown by billie eilish
> 
> hiiiiii this is not nice or fun. this is in fact almost completely emotional self harm via sex SOMEONE in a server im in sure said some words abt this and it killed me on impact. 
> 
> anyway martin wants to be useful and good. he has a whole bunch of inferiority complexes and issues with interpersonal relationships including how he conceptualizes himself as a person or a partner or a friend (ie. as someone who gives other people a service or is of use to them). elias and peter are VERY good at taking advantage of that
> 
> martin is trans and i use the word cock to describe his situation
> 
> please read the tags. if you want to skip over the daddy kink its the 4th full length section/the first one with peter in it

Elias isn’t nice to him.

He’s not mean, either, exactly – just. Professional. Not nice. All business. Eager to point out his flaws and whatever disappointment he’s caused him this time. Kind of like Jon, really.

It rings like a hollow-point bullet shot through him, thinking about him now. He closes his eyes. There’s tears threatening to form and fall from his eyes but he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Not now. 

It’s so easy to let go of himself when he’s like this. Hard to keep track of time when he can’t see the clock, when he’s not doing anything to keep himself busy. All he has is sensory information. Nothing to do with his brain, his hands. 

He refocuses. He recenters. Wood floor under his knees. Fabric between his fingers, under his palms.

Above him Elias shifts slightly. Martin sucks on the cock in his mouth reflexively before he can think better of it, and Elias makes a disapproving noise. He lets his mouth go slack immediately, stomach dropping, but he’s not fast enough – Elias has his hand in his hair in a split second, pulls on it, and then Martin’s getting yanked off of him, and it _hurts_. 

“I thought I gave you instructions,” Elias says. He doesn’t let go of Martin’s hair. Instead he drags him by the hair until he’s got his face squished against his thigh. Martin rubs his face against it and swallows heavily. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice comes out raw and itchy in his throat. “Let me try again, please.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. Martin can’t tell what Elias is thinking. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach - this echo of _you’ve fucked up again. You’ve fucked up. You can’t do anything right_, and he could cry, right here, against Elias’ unwrinkled charcoal grey trouser leg, he really could, but then Elias’ grip in his hair loosens. 

“Alright” he says. “One more try. But Martin, I really did expect more from you.”

Martin noses his way back to Elias’ cock and swallows it into his mouth blinking back tears. This time he’s going to be good. He knows he can. He does this all the time, and usually he can do the whole time without complaining, without making a mistake, without disappointing Elias. He can do this one thing. Usually.

He goes back to thinking about nothing. It’s safe. The world slows to a crawl. There’s nothing around him. He’s nothing.

It’s seven when Elias finally pulls his chair back. His cock leaving Martin’s mouth makes a wet popping noise. Martin opens and closes his mouth a few times. It makes his jaw click, which makes him wince. 

“Aches?” Elias asks. Martin makes a noncommittal sound, and Elias doesn’t ask further. Martin likes it better when he doesn’t.

–

(He wonders how Jon would use him, sometimes. If he’d let him touch him at all. If he’d make him touch himself – if he’d sit there, on the couch or the bed or the desk chair and watch him, tell him how disappointed he is, not even good enough for him to touch. Or if he’d touch him, just one finger, point out all the parts of him he doesn’t like, or grab handfuls of his skin and squeeze, ask him what’s wrong with him, why he can’t just do _one_ thing right, why he thinks he deserves this –)

–

Elias fucks him like he’s bored with it.

Martin preps himself, and Elias waits for him to lie down with his hands by his sides, and he pushes into him in one smooth thrust when he does and if Martin makes a sound Elias frowns at him so he tries not to. 

It’s not – it’s not bad, usually. It’s not good, either. It just kind of is. Elias doesn’t like him talking and he doesn’t have much to say, usually, so he stays quiet. Elias _does_ talk, and Martin’s not sure if he likes it or not. When they’re in his office it’s quiet. Easy to lose himself in the task or things that aren’t the task. When he actually fucks him he has to be _there_. 

So Elias fucks him lazily, like he might as well, like he doesn’t have any specific feelings about it. Martin always tries to make it more interesting for him, to get any kind of a reaction out of him – he clenches down or makes faces he thinks probably look good or moves his hips to meet Elias’ or pinches his own nipples, but Elias seldom visibly reacts to any of it. It’s almost reassuring, in a way. That he can try however hard he wants but it won’t mean anything to him. Secure in his inherent incompetence. 

Sometimes he manages to catch him off guard though – Elias thrusts in, hard and deep, and when he’s just about to bottom out Martin moves his hips down to meet Elias’, clenches down around him, and Elias makes a sound. 

“Good,” he sighs, and there’s a sick rush of exhilarating pleasure at that. 

Good. Good. Good. 

He’s high off the buzz of the singular compliment for the rest of it, Elias fucking him with no care for his pleasure, just the drive of his hips and the drag and stretch of his cock, Martin taking whatever little friction he can get from Elias’ cock brushing against his, these little bits of contact and pressure, pushing himself into them. 

Elias comes inside him. He doesn’t bother telling him not to. He might as well do this for him.

–

( – would he deserve it? Jon’s hands on him? Jon’s cock in him? He doubts he’d let him have his cock. Even his hands seem far fetched. Would he even want to touch him? Why would he? He wouldn’t hit him but maybe he’d yell at him. Maybe he’d tell him to do something and he would do it wrong and Jon would get frustrated. Martin wonders if he’d tell everyone how disappointed he was. If he’d tell it to his tape recorder, like he’s heard him say so many other things about him before. If he’d immortalize the way he’s let him down –)

–

“Do you want to be useful?”

Martin squeezes his eyes shut. It’s less scary that way, when he can’t see Elias, when he can’t see the disapproving, stone-faced look he gives him. It’s easier. It makes it less real. 

It’s Elias, though. He never lets him off easy. 

“Open your eyes, Martin,” he says, a harsh edge to his voice, “answer me. Do you want to be useful?”

“Yes,” Martin says softly. Elias knows this, of course. It’s a constant. Just a background truth to his existence. He just likes to make Martin say it. 

Elias smiles, then. “On your knees, Martin.”

At this point he just does these things, obedient, good. The wooden floor is as hard as ever. He hopes so hard that he does these things well enough that you could say he’s _good_ because of it.

Elias is already unzipping his trousers by the time Martin’s on his knees in front of him. He doesn’t quite smile down at him, but his face softens slightly when Martin opens his mouth, anticipating the “open up” that always comes. Overeager, maybe, but he’s always been a teacher’s pet.

Elias puts his fingers in his mouth first, presses down on his tongue gently, then hard, and Martin almost gags but he manages to stop the reflex before Elias can tell. Elias hates it when he gags, and the whole point of this is to do things that Elias _likes_. 

“You find hot drinks comforting,” Elias says evenly, “they remind you of when you were younger. You used to like vanilla tea. It tastes too sweet to you, now, but you still associate it with comfort. That’s why you make vanilla tea _specifically_ whenever you bring Jon tea. He doesn’t appreciate it, of course – he barely likes tea as it is – but you still do it. Do you know he doesn’t like it and do it anyway? Or have you not noticed, after all these years?”

He doesn’t like it when Elias does this. Elias knows he doesn’t. Elias also doesn’t care. 

Elias looks at him for a long while, head cocked slightly, calculating. Martin looks back. There’s tears in his eyes, he’s pretty sure, but he refuses to look away. 

“I’m going to help you,” Elias says finally, and withdraws his fingers. Martin opens his mouth wider, and Elias’ cock replaces the fingers soon enough, and he takes it to the root eagerly, hungrily, like it’s a relief to finally take it. 

He sucks and he bobs his head and he licks and does everything he knows Elias likes, and Elias comes down his throat, thick and bitter and hot and says “I certainly hope that was comforting enough.”

Martin, voice hoarse, says “thank you. Thank you,” like it’s a favor.

–

( – or if Jon would be sweet, and nice, and touch him gently and make him cry, and if he’d kiss his tears after making him cry. If he’d touch him nicely. If he’d touch him like he loves him. Would he care about his pleasure? Would he tell him he’s pretty? Would he trace a finger down his jaw or under his eye or across a clavicle? Would he kiss him on the mouth?)

–

Elias is gone, now. It’s weird, but he’s adjusting.

“There you go, baby,” Peter says in that sickeningly affectionate voice when Martin sinks down on him, his whole length disappearing inside him in one smooth movement. Like he’s doing something to help him. He guesses in some twisted way he is, really. 

Martin tries to look away but Peter’s got a hand on his jaw, and although it’s soft and kind it’s also firm. Martin goes to turn his head but Peter catches his head and guides it back. Martin lets him. 

It’s a stretch. It always is. Peter likes it better this way, and Martin does too, although for a different reason. Peter, as if reading his thoughts, moans gruffly, goes “you’re so tight, baby. Good _boy._”

Martin clenches down obediently, just like he knows Peter wants him to, good and nice and lovely. He’s perfected this role already. He lets Peter play with his nipples and makes the right noises and lets his breath catch in his throat when it feels good for real. 

(He’s not blind. He knows what Peter’s doing, calling him sport and talking to him like he’s a kid and taking this pseudo parental role. Guiding him. Making him his assistant. Making use of him. He knows what he’s doing. And yet some part of him is keeping him from running, from telling him to fuck off and refusing to entertain this, some part of him taking the crawling in his skin and pretending he likes it instead.)

“Say it, sweetheart,” Peter murmurs into his ear, voice gruff and deep and adoring. 

Martin takes a moment to fuck himself on his cock, the steady up and down motion of his hips, the gratifying fill and drag making him twitch. “Daddy,” he whimpers when Peter snakes a hand between them, thumb brushing his cock, settling over it. 

He didn’t know his father. He doesn’t know if that makes this better or worse.

“_Good_,” Peter says, “you’re being so good. Lovely boy.”

Martin closes his eyes and wonders when he became so desperate for positive attention that he’s willing to do this. He shouldn’t be getting off on it. Maybe he isn’t. Who knows. It always feels good in the middle ten minutes. It’s just the buildup that’s hard, and what comes after.

This part is – this part is good. Peter takes him out of his body. He makes this concrete act an abstract thing that he can lose himself in. 

He says things like “you’re doing so great” and “you’re my favourite” and “I’m so glad you’re all mine” and Martin shivers and presses his body into him, arches into his hands, and Peter takes his nipples into his mouth one by one, sucks on them, and he whines and squirms and pretends to not like it even when his body proves him wrong, hot and wet and clenching around Peter with every drag of his teeth. 

Peter comes, eventually, and when he’s done he picks Martin up by his hips like he weighs nothing and lays him across the desk. Martin thinks about pressing his thighs together, for a second, but Peter nudges his legs open and buries his face between them before he can convince his brain to do it, three fingers slipping into him while he licks and sucks on his cock, and when Martin comes he doesn’t say anything. Just incoherent whining, and while he comes back to himself Peter sits by him and repeats “Good boy, good boy, good boy” like if he says it enough he’ll believe it.

–

(Would he kiss him?)

–

Elias didn’t like to touch him. Sometimes Martin feels like touching him is all Peter does.

He’ll fuck him, sure, but he’ll come fast and he’ll always come in him and then he’ll spread him out and get him off with his hands, and push the come back into him with his fingers or his tongue and tell him how pretty he is and how pretty he’d be if he got him pregnant and Martin doesn’t even know how that makes him feel, and it’s –

With Peter he feels like he doesn’t get to be good. Like he can’t be _better_. Like his baseline is as good as he’ll get. Like Peter isn’t expecting anything more. Like he’s resigned to accept anything Martin does. 

Peter touches him and Martin tries to be good and Peter just won’t _let him_. He rides him and Peter touches him and it feels so good and he tells him he’s good and lovely and beautiful and none of it feels true. It used to. Now he just feels hollow. 

Maybe that's the point. Maybe that’s how he’s supposed to feel – like every compliment or love confession or word of adoration is a lie to make him feel better.

–

(Martin thinks – maybe one day he’ll be good enough. Maybe he’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe he’ll be good and he’ll be able to tell and maybe, maybe he won’t disappoint him.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Or maybe not.)

–

“Good boy,” Peter says, combing his hair off of his forehead, and Martin leans forward to get more of him in his mouth. The pet names seem gratuitous as ever, but with Peter’s cock in his mouth it barely matters.

Peter always feels cold. He doesn’t miss him but at least with Elias the cock in his mouth was warm and human.

“There you go,” Peter says when he swallows around his cock, all adoring and sweet. Martin does it again, just to get him to moan. It feels oddly satisfying. Like he’s doing something out of spite, like he’s getting back at him somehow. He takes him as far in his mouth as he can from this angle and sucks hard, and Peter grunts. Martin wraps his arms around Peter’s hips to push him closer until he’s in as far as he can get.

He can’t breathe. Maybe if he stays there for long enough he’ll pass out. 

Peter fucks his mouth but only shallowly, and he makes sure Martin can breathe. He whines when Peter pulls out enough for him to take a breath, and that makes him cough, and Peter pats his head almost condescendingly, goes “do I really have to make sure you don’t deprive yourself of _air_?” 

The implied _how much of a slut are you to make yourself pass out so you can fit more cock in your mouth_ is heavy. 

Martin leans back in and gets back to work. Peter lets him.

–

(Probably not.) 


End file.
